The purpling red of ripening berries,
warm sweetness, flashes against stark, snowy white,
dark fucshia fireworks against winter’s brightness,
silent bursts, eye to finger to tongue. 

Kindling, carefully collected and piled just so,
sparks, awakening some inner-kettle
whose whistling steam powers our stillness,
a toy train circling its track.

Thick black ink, thoughtful against brown paper,
directs hands and trucks, covers colorful folds
holding clear, faceted glass ready to break the sun
into pieces, red to violet and back again.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

The guard who stands upon the parapet
scans sky and ground for any sign of threat,

yet can not sense the dread and fear that grows
within the private chambers far below.

Call them down — call them back within
to check your kitchens, stables and dungeons.

And order all their swords be left behind;
bring cups and coins to share with those they find.

Ease their grief — mend their broken tools.
For only kings with settled castles rule.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

You can bet I’ll jump the gun.
You can bet I’ll trip and fall.
You can bet I’ll miss the basket.
You can bet I’ll drop the ball. 
You can bet I’ll leave you hanging.
You can bet that I won’t call.
But you can bet that in my silence
I’ve been thinking of you all. 

You can bet I’ll keep you waiting
for your message to be returned.
You can bet you’ll second-guess me.
You can bet that you’ll feel burned.
You can bet that I’ll forget
every lesson I ever learned
and that the love you share, I’ll tell myself,
is love I never earned.

You can bet that I’ve been grieving.
You can bet there’s more to grieve.
You can bet I’ve been believing
you’d be best if I’d just leave.
You can bet on my capacity
to fall short when you most need.
But if you bet that I’ll get up again,
that I’ll strain to lift you even when
tears stain my cheeks and my knees are weak,
then friend, I owe you everything
and this note stands as the deed.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

whole and growing, strands twist
and extend — together
a world ever spinning,
starting and completing
its cycles and spirals,
but never quite ending. 

losses loosen and slide
over my skin to nest
in the drain — together
a home, just a tangle
of threads caught up in each
others’ paths and passing.

thinning, mainly, a frost
creeping at the edges,
light between my fingers
radiant — our wisdom
reaches from within us
for new heads, hearts and homes.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

tearing plastic; flipping pages;
check; eye-slide; cross-check;
wrap up; filling little squares — 
crowded desperately around each other;

busy-ness drives these final days — 
counting down; summing up;
money-grab; wealth spread selectively;
smile and click; check and slash and rip;

; ; ; ; ; ; — ; — ; ; ; ; ; ;

Tell me an old story, friend, one I’ve heard a thousand times before with the same details, same pauses, rises and falls as always and friend, when you finish, just tell it again.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

I forgive you. I forgive me, too.
We didn’t mean it, our meanness. We took a step back (or two).
We can’t do better by being told we’re bad.
We can do better by seeing what makes us sad.
I mean truly seeing: outside and in,
the world that builds it and the worlds that it begins.
I sit with myself to see my nasty parts,
to heal the broken bits and listen to my better heart.
I sit before you to let you see me,
to copy me down, follow my curves, maybe learn to be me.
If we step together, at once even if alone,
we can grow forever, turning our unknowns known.
Just please forgive me. And please forgive you, too.
We can see more fully by taking a step back (or two),
see the lies we wear and the joy that awaits,
the change we run from and the change we embrace.
I’ve been meaning to tell you, been meaning to let you see
that the love we share means the world to me.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

bravery depends
on the lies that surround it
on the hows it grows
and whys that ground it

the ceiling creaks
from foot falls above
and the walls warp
in the absence of love 

moonlight breaks mirrors
as our hope defends us
as our solitude wanes
and their deceit bends us

dying for flags
to wave them more proudly
changing our heads
to bang them more loudly

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

joy rests
suppressed
under our anger
and grief
jaws and fists
grip

joy sits
deliberate
weighing options
which crease could crack
which crack will widen
wait

joy lives
hard-shelled 
seedling needing space
and warmth
to twist upward
grow

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

brilliance, open and endless
     flecked with maturity, holding light

the yellow of late autumn, storm-nourished oak
     creeps across morning’s pale, cool blues

later, far away stars will speck the same expanse
     bright white time-bombs ticking thru deepening black

dark nests of potential grow in twists,
     slowly shocked silver by grasp

---

love notes
a ritual to start the work week

Care slips from our fingers
like flowing brook water,
frigid from the chill of November night
and icy under our skin.

Only our cupped palms, powered
by boilers hidden in dark basements,
caged and clanging, clanging,
can heat it enough to share.

Attempted sleights spill our wares,
a bean stripped of its magic,
air thinned of oxygen,
leaving us empty-handed.

     Cup lip lowers
back to break the surface again.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

release misfortune 
     just a turn of the wheel
hold fast to the reins
     inner conflict controlled
embrace past warmth
     filled filling full

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week